Troutified
by MGMK
Summary: Apparently, there's a learning curve...Part 10 of Maya-verse series I think .


**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Just borrowing.

**Author's Note: **I'm gonna have to double up with the Maya-verse for this month because I'm dreadfully behind (my self-imposed) schedule. Thanks to my Beta for the motivation and editing. Though we're both kind of busy so a few might have slipped through. And thanks for reading you guys. You're all awesome. Also, look me up on Tumblr, yo.

* * *

"Thanks for the ride, Mike," Brittany grins at him as she slips out of the passenger door and Mike just tips his hat, ever gracious, trying not to smile too widely as he watches his friend dart away from the car and towards her hotel like they haven't been exhausting themselves with choreography all day.

Brittany waves belatedly at Martin, the door man, sprinting across the hotel's lobby to catch the elevator before it closes, narrowly avoiding the doors and startling an older couple and their miniature pincher.

"Sorry," she murmurs timidly, pressing the button for the sixth floor and then the 'close door' button to hurry things along. "I've got an appointment."

"Oh," the older woman beams knowingly at the twinkle in Brittany's eye, "She's trying to get back to her sweetheart, Harold. Isn't that adorable?"

"Wonderful," Harold says drily, holding onto the yapping dog like one would hold onto a hot dog and Brittany tries not to laugh at the way he's also carrying his wife's purse.

They reach the fifth floor – the couple's destination – and they shuffle out much slower than Brittany would have liked, the older woman actually turning back to Brittany momentarily. "Wish your sweetheart husband a good night from us, dear."

"Well," Brittany starts as the doors are finally closing again, "I actually call her honey but will do!"

***o*O*o***

She's exhausted and sweaty and there's nothing she'd rather do than run a hot, scalding bath and relax her mind and body but there are more pressing matters to attend to.

Brittany fights off a yawn, waiting, impatient as ever, for Santana to pick up and finally, after a good hundred seconds or so, the face she's gotten memorized like the inside of her eyelids fills up her computer screen.

Brittany ignores the slight frown on her face, though.

"Tell me I'm not too late."

"You know…" Santana starts, still looking cross, "You're lucky I love you so much. I've sat through three _Wiggles: The Next Generation_ DVDs and an episode _Indigo's Inquiries_. She and I are both hanging by a thread."

"I'm sorry but we were working on the big finale number tonight and some of these people must be related to Finn I swear. They swiveled where they should have pivoted and spun when they should have turned," Brittany shakes her head, trailing off. "It doesn't matter. Just…is Maya still awake? I miss my Pumpkin like I miss that 'how many fingers' fame we play."

"Okay, okay. Stop with the face. I'll put her on," Santana says, moving out of the shot momentarily and Brittany strains to make out the wall art that's on their bedroom wall back home. "She may be a little cranky though because she's really sleepy."

Santana's back in the shot now, she's moved the computer to the bed, and there's her little baby girl, blinking owlishly in her light blue romper and barely sitting upright as she chews absently on one of her plastic toy blocks.

Brittany's sure she's grinning like an idiot but she couldn't care at all. She hasn't seen her little girl in three whole days because of her late working nights and the time zone changes and it's been slowly driving her crazy, even if Santana's tried to make up for it with picture after picture after picture.

"Maya," Brittany calls gently. "Maya, pumpkin, it's Momma."

She watches as Maya instantly starts looking around, more than familiar with her mother's voice and Santana, laughing lightly, directs her to the screen.

And then Brittany laughs outright when Maya's little mouth falls open, looking back and forth between her two moms like she can't believe it.

"Hey Pumpkin," Brittany speaks again and Maya's eyes widen even more as she scoots over the short distance until she's right up on the computer screen, peering at it closely.

"Is that Momma, baby?" Santana asks, keeping her tone light yet excited and Maya huffs out a little laugh when she pokes at the screen. "That's Momma isn't it? You miss Momma?"

Maya presses her face insanely close and giggles exuberantly and Brittany laughs if only to keep from crying.

Maya babbles excitedly, proudly displaying her new toy iPhone – present of Uncle Angel of course – and Brittany nods, following along. "You've got a new phone? That's super cool."

Maya gurgles some more, pointing at the blanket while but Brittany smiles regardless, looking extremely interested. "Oh really? That's a real noggin-scratcher, Maya."

Lastly, Maya reaches her hand out toward the screen again, her pointer finger landing on the tip of Brittany's nose, much like she'd do if Brittany were there in person and Brittany's sure right then that she's never been more in love.

"I missed you too, Pumpkin," Brittany mumbles, turning her cheek to the camera. "Now give Momma a kiss."

Maya slobbers all over the screen but it's a small price to pay.

Especially when Santana joins in too.

***o*O*o***

"Remember Santana," Nancy, her publicist, says, flipping anxiously over her note cards for the billionth time, "Try not to say anything politically inflammatory. It took me ten sleepless nights plus a really creepy visit to some guy in New Hampshire to get enough _YooHoo_ to cool Melissa Rivers' jets enough to not put you on her 'worst-dressed' list."

"You should've let her run it," Santana says dismissively, flipping her hair over her shoulder and blinking through the make-up brushes moving rapidly over her face. "Then everyone would realize that she's nothing but a tasteless, _blind_, over-worked face with an uncanny ability to unhinge her jaw at will. Which is why she's still in the business, by the way," she adds under her breath, making Gianni, her make-up artist titter.

"You're a bad girl Ms. Santana," he cat-calls, finishing touching her up.

"Just…talk about things that make you happy, okay?" Nancy insists, flashing her what Santana's come to know as her pleading smile. "Brittany, singing-"

"Maya," Ingrid, make-up artist number two, interrupts, carrying said girl into the living room carefully.

"Aw," Santana clicks her tongue, shooing away Gianni and grabbing for her baby, Maya's hair swept up into the cutest little ringlets, pinned back by a tiny, simple headband with a delicate, flat bow it's only ornamentation. "Baby girl, you're gorgeous."

Maya, glad to be back with her mommy, finally cracks a grin.

She'd looked a little anxious before that.

The doorbell rings at last and all of Santana's people flurry about in a rush of movement, arranging freshly-cut flowers in vases and fluffing the couch cushions and she only rolls her eyes.

"Remember," Nancy reiterates as the camera crew filters inside her home quickly, "Happy."

Santana nods, fighting off a repeat eye roll, as she stands to meet him – her interviewer for the evening.

"Why, Mrs. Pierce, be still my heart," he greets gallantly, and though the jew-fro's long gone, Jacob still looks every bit of the young wetnap he was in high school; A little less beady-eyed perhaps, but always one eyebrow-jiggle away from saying something inappropriate.

But she can't blame him for maintaining that persona. After all, it's part of what makes his number one rated weekly talk show a success.

"Jacob," she greets, not tersely, but formally. She smirks, "Long time, no speak."

"Yeah," he says, demurely, "You've got some fiercely protective friends. Not to mention an incredibly athletic and sneakily other half. I still don't know how she got into my building and stole that hospital footage."

"Kept your cameras away, didn't it?"

"Until now," he fires back, not unused to this verbal sparring with her. "Are you ready to do this?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Santana says with a sigh, dropping a kiss onto Maya's cheek.

***o*O*o***

"Alright, let's just dive right in, shall we?" Jacob asks, scrolling down his interview questions in his iPad. "Recently, you've come under fire with the, shall we say, less socially-evolved persons in this country when you, Brittany, and that adorable baby sitting on your lap walked the red carpet together for the first-time ever. Can you explain why you decided to do this, even though you knew the backlash and controversy that would arise as a result?"

"It's simple really Jacob," Santana admits with a shrug, holding onto Maya's hand and lightly toying with her little fingers, "It wasn't some grand statement of socio-political implication. I wanted to go out with my family so I did. I talk a lot in my music about not hiding who you are from the world and embracing everything you are fearlessly. It'd be hypocritical of me to then cower in fear of those who may not understand or accept me or my family."

"Still, it must have been hard; the backlash." Jacob persists, digging for a deeper revelation. "There were some pretty harsh words."

"Ignorant people can be pretty harsh sometimes, Mr. Israel," Santana implores kindly, with an airy smile that belies the extremely subtle cut it out gesture as she kicks his shin swiftly. "But, in spite of all of that, we had a nice time out. Maya adored all the attention and Rachel's premiere was a success. So, we're definitely winning."

"I'd have to agree. Okay, switching gears, speaking of motherhood…" Jacob starts, gesturing with the point of his stylus at Maya, "How's that going?"

"It's great," Santana effuses, her eyes alit as she smiles down at her daughter, Maya blinking up into the camera lights. "I love her so, so much. You hear people talk about it all the time, and it's something you never understand until it happens to you, but loving something, someone, so entirely and wholly and completely that it just…shakes you to your very foundation. That's something you only experience when you become a parent and when you find your soul mate."

"So you're two for two, then?"

Santana grins, her eyes meeting Jacob's and she can sense that he's remembering the same moment so many years ago, question worded differently but still laid out just as plain.

"Definitely."

***o*O*o***

And motherhood is grand and fabulous and rewarding and all that jazz but then…

…something happens one morning, and you wonder just when the woman you love and adore more than anyone any in the world – tied with Maya – turned into Adolf Hitler.

"Britt, I am telling you, we need to go to the hospital," Santana almost yells, still frantically rocking Maya back and forth.

Her baby girl is burning up and crying murder, her dark skin flush with fever as she squints through her tears at her mother, wondering why she's torturing her so and if weren't for the fact that Brittany's hidden the car keys somewhere – and for the fact that Santana can't really see straight through her worry – she'd already be on the 81 to St. Rita's.

Maya lets loose another piercing wail and Santana's chin trembles, "_Brittany_."

"Got it!" Brittany yells, finally putting down the baby book and striding confidently over to them. She coos gently as she eases Maya out of Santana's grip – although Santana acquiesces reluctantly following after them like the fretful being she's become.

Brittany shuffles quickly into the kitchen, rubbing a soothing hand along Maya's back before reaching way into the back of the freezer, producing one of their washcloths, stiff with cold. "I knew I'd put this in here for a reason," she announces with a grin, even as Maya's wails continue. "Here you go, Pumpkin. Chew on this."

Maya's so annoyed that she almost doesn't take it, but eventually she's got the cool rag worked between her inflamed gums, her wails lessening to soft whimpers. "There you go," Brittany coaxes, kissing away her drying tears. "Your mommies are gonna make it all better."

Santana steps closer, the back of her hand dropping against Maya's forehead softly. "She's still hot," she says warningly.

"That's 'cause she was crying so much."

"Britt, we need to go to the hospital."

"But we don't have to, though. We just need to get her out of her clothes and put a cool cloth on her," Brittany says, sure of herself. "She'll be wet as rain."

"First of all, it's right as rain,"

"That doesn't make any sense. Rain can't be right or wrong. It's natural."

"Neutral," Santana automatically corrects, then shakes her head, frustrated with herself, "And whatever. I don't care what some book says but my daughter feels unnaturally warm and I'm not gonna let her die of a fever because you think you're the baby whisperer or something."

Brittany's eyes narrow. "What do you mean, 'your daughter'?"

"Hand her to me," Santana says, already reaching for her.

"No," Brittany says, holding Maya closer, her voice rising. "What did you mean by that Santana?"

"Not what you're thinking," Santana says quickly, reaching for Maya again. "Now, come on. We're wasting time."

"You've never had a problem with my baby book advice, before," Brittany takes a step back. "Now it's all poor, stupid Britt again, right?"

"No one called you stupid, Brittany," Santana says with a sigh.

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face," Brittany says, her tone nowhere near as sharp as her words, ever mindful of arguing in front of Maya. "You know what? Let's go to the hospital. Just so I can see the look on your face when they say how _wrong_ you are and how _right_ I am."

"Whatever," Santana says hotly, finally taking Maya from Brittany as her wife storms out of the kitchen, retrieving the keys from the stupid potted plant Rachel gave them and opening the front door, even through her anger remembering to leave it open for Santana.

***o*O*o***

Santana worries her bottom lip, shifting every second or so in the stiff doctor's chair.

Brittany's sitting in the chair next to her, her posture stiff and taut, but her eyes watchful over Maya as the pediatrician on call looks their daughter over, humming to herself with every checkpoint.

Maya, almost serene, sits patiently atop the baby table, fingers tearing at the crinkly paper. She's naked except for her diaper and jumps a little when the doctor's cold stethoscope meets her skin.

"Uh huh," Dr. Norman says, standing upright, a hand at Maya's back to steady her. "She's running a mild fever."

Brittany frowns and Santana faces her smugly.

"…But it's nothing a cool towel and a couple hours in a diaper won't fix," the doctor continues, smiling down a Maya as the girl tries for her hanging stethoscope.

"So, she's fine," Brittany asks, just for clarification purposes.

She's not gloating or anything.

"Absolutely, one-hundred percent," the doctor assures them. "When a baby's teething, the irritation and the pain spikes to nearly intolerable levels but it's nothing a little Baby Tylenol and a cooled teething ring won't fix. And the fever's just brought on by the increased bouts of extended crying. Nothing more."

***o*O*o***

The ride back home is quiet, Brittany electing to sit in the back with Maya this time while Santana drives and within minutes they're both asleep, Santana notes as she catches their reflection in the rearview mirror at a red light.

Brittany's hunched over the car seat awkwardly, her right arm cupping Maya's head protectively and Santana catch help but smile, even as a stab of guilt nags at the back of her mind.

She hadn't meant to imply anything with her statement earlier, and, it sucks that even after all these years, she's still unwittingly hurting Brittany by not thinking before she speaks but she's not perfect – not by a long shot.

Still…

Santana sighs when she pulls into the driveway, shutting off the car and peering into the rearview mirror again, surprised to find Brittany's eyes looking right back at her.

She smiles a little, "We're home."

Brittany's face doesn't move from its unpleasantness. "I'll take her in."

No more words are exchanged as Brittany carries Maya to her crib, kissing her head before putting her down gently, the baby instantly snuggling into the soft down of her baby blanket.

Santana watches from the doorway, but the moment Maya's settled she crosses over, leaning way down to give her a goodnight kiss as well.

She tries to reach for Brittany's hand but her wife shrugs out of her grip, leaving to go to their bedroom. It's only when she comes back out clutching a blanket and a pillow that the nagging feeling in Santana's gut intensifies.

"Where are you going?" Santana asks her, coming out into the living room just as Brittany's flicking on the television.

"I'm gonna watch the news…or something," Brittany mumbles.

"Don't be like that, Britt," Santana says quietly, walking over. "Don't."

"Like what?"

"Like all mopey and stuff," Santana shrugs.

"I'm just watching the news. The fact that my wife thinks I'm incapable of raising _our_ child has no bearing on my couch-potato activities," Brittany says, completely monotone.

"Okay. It's creepy how much I've rubbed off on you," Santana states, easing onto the couch. She carefully pulls Brittany's feet into her lap, thumbs massaging deep into her soles in a way that she knows Brittany will appreciate. "I'm sorry," she says after a few seconds of kneading, pulling Brittany foot up to her mouth and pressing a light kiss onto the top of it.

She watches Brittany's lips twitch, "Keep going."

"You're an awesome mother and completely cool under pressure," Santana adds continuing her slow massage.

Brittany smirks full on now, shifting a little so that she can look up at Santana from where her head's resting on the arm of the couch, "What else?"

"Um…your feet don't stink?" Santana guesses and Brittany nudges her thigh with her big toe in response.

Brittany's smirk melts into a smile, "Close enough."

***o*O*o***

Maya, adorned in a pale green swimsuit, cut to look like a frog, takes the tiniest step imaginable closer, eyeing the clear blue water with a small frown.

Santana stands at the edge of the pool in waist high water, her arms outstretched and beckoning but Maya's having none of it, her hands fiercely gripping Brittany's fingers.

"She's scared Britt," Santana manages through a giggle when she tries to walk Maya forward only for her daughter to back up into her legs.

"I don't know why. She loves the water."

"Correction," Santana says, waving for Maya to come towards her again while Brittany focuses the camera, "She loves bath time."

"Exactly. And this is like bath time to the extreme," Brittany tries to get Maya to walk on again to no avail. "I don't get it."

"Maybe we should try carrying her in," Santana says, pulling herself out of the water. "We can probably get better reaction shots that way anyway."

"Mmmhmm," Brittany murmurs distractedly and Santana looks up to see her wife's focusing the camera a little higher than necessary.

"Ahem," Santana clears her throat, scooping Maya up and mindful of her floaties, "And what are you filming Mrs. Pierce?"

"My Baby Mama," Brittany deadpans and Santana snorts out a laugh, making Brittany smile, "And her fantastic rack."

"Just don't turn this into a peep show. Maya's gonna watch this one day," Santana smirks, but she still throws a little something extra into her strut as she walks away.

Brittany moves closer to the edge of the pool, zooming in on Maya as the curious girl turns this way and that in her other mother's arms, trying to see where Santana's taking her to but Santana's lilting tone and bright eyes prove a worthy distraction and before Maya can protest, her baby legs are submerged under water, still propped in the crook of Santana's arm.

And then Brittany bursts out laughing.

"What?" Santana asks, alarmed, checking to see if her top's still tied.

Brittany _really _likes boobies.

"She was just chilling in your arms but the moment she touched the water she got this, 'what the hell is happening, face'?" Brittany manages to say through her laughter.

Santana twirls them around a little bit in the water smoothly, all the while talking gently to Maya. "We're in the pool, baby. Can you say pool, Maya?"

"Uh uh," the baby says, raising her arms to Brittany who's still standing poolside.

"No, no, May," Brittany says. "Pool time. Don't be scared, baby girl."

"Britt, get in the pool," Santana says.

"But I've got the camera."

"The camera's waterproof."

"It is?" Brittany says with a grin, "Sweet." And without a second thought she jumps headlong into the water, emerging and spitting out a stream of water, much to Maya's amusement.

"Is Momma being silly?" Santana asks Maya, amidst the little girl's giggles, inching closer to Brittany. "Come on Princess. Let's go to Momma."

Gingerly, Santana eases Maya into the pool, and once she's secure in the durability of the arm floaties, lets her go, watching proudly as Maya claws, kicks, and paddles her way toward Brittany, clearing the few feet separating them in record time.

"And the gold medal in the…." Brittany works out the quick calculation in her head, "zero point six one…something meter race goes to Maya Pierce. And the crowd goes wild," she narrates, zooming in on Maya's accomplished face and then Santana whopping and clapping like a seal.

"Okay. I'mma get her going back to you," Brittany murmurs, and while Maya still looks a little overwhelmed by the amount of water, she doesn't fight the waves as much as she did before, performing some kind of sideways swim move until she's safely back in Santana's arms.

"That was pretty awesome," Brittany gloats, wiping a few droplets of water off the camera's lens. "Baby Phelps right here."

"Brittany," Santana admonishes lightly but she can't check her smile.

"The next Missy Franklin," her wife continues to boast loudly, their chants and cheers echoing in the afternoon sun.

***o*O*o***

"Uh. Uh," Maya says, still only in her diaper and staring up at her mother with hands upstretched and grasping at the air.

"You want Mama to pick you up, Baby?"

Maya shakes her head no, even though she means yes and Santana laughs gently before scooping her up anyway.

"That means no, May," she says quietly, nuzzling their noses together. She nods emphatically for example, "This means yes."

Maya shakes her head no again.

Oh well.

She's learning and it's a little bittersweet, Santana recalls, but every day Maya's doing something new, grunting out another monosyllabic sound or jabbering away in her baby lingo, and every day Santana gets a little bit more weepy because her baby's not going to be a baby anymore pretty soon.

Just last week they tossed away her second to last bottle and Brittany literally had to blow a raspberry on her check to get her to smile through her tears.

She's just a little bit pathetic.

(Brittany thinks it's really cute though so whatever.)

Oh, so, anyway, Maya's got the sippy cup thing down but there's this one thing she does that they just can't figure out.

She throws her cup down when she's finished and cracks up like a crazy person after it.

It's pretty hilarious to observe but, in spite of how many times they "scold" her about it (because, come on, how can you _really_ speak sternly to her beautiful baby girl), she keeps doing it.

And because they're totally the couple that does this now (well she does, Brittany's not a fan of this _new_ social media format), Santana does the only thing she thinks will work:

Seeks out assistance in the likes of the childless morons she happens to call friends.

Apparently, there's a learning curve she's not quite figured out herself.

_Snix: I've got a problem guys._

_Wheezy: Uh oh._

_Mike N' Ike: Is it like, a drug problem?_

_Fabgay: The only thing Santana's hooked on is Brittany._

_Suckerman: Nice one, baby._

_Fabgay: I try _

_Snix: Guys, I'm serious. It's about Maya._

_Prancy: Oh my God, is the little angel okay?_

_Angel: Do I need to cut someone?_

_Tribrows: Why are all the Lopezes so hostile?_

_Girl-Asian: *whispers* It's all the beans._

_Wheezy: Satan, speak up! Is Baby Girl okay or what?_

_Snix: She's fine…well, except…_

_Wheezy: Don't leave me hanging on._

_Snix: Maya's got this thing she does where she like, keeps throwing her sippy cup down on the floor. And Brittany and I have exhausted everything-_

_Britt-Britt: Huh?_

_Snix: Britt, what are you doing?_

_Britt-Britt: I dunno. My phone went off and then I was on here._

_Snix: Oh. I must still have it to automatic dial when I say a name. But, anyway, I was telling evrerybody about Maya's little cup problem._

_Britt-Britt: Oh yeah. It's legit crazy guys. And also funny. But she throws the thing down and then cracks up laughing like a maniac._

_Trouty Mouth: Oh my God._

_Snix: What is your problem, Evans?_

_Britt-Britt: Hi Sam._

_Trouty Mouth: I just can't believe it stuck._

_Fabgay: What stuck?_

_Trouty Mouth: I taught her that. __Ha ha ha. Remember _Thor_?_

_Snix: Wha…oh my God._

_Fabgay: What? I don't get it._

_Wheezy: Me either._

_Suckerman: I'm dying._

_Snix: Good bye._

_Snix has left the conversation._

"What?" Brittany asks, padding over with a freshly diapered Maya. "Did he tell you he loved you again? That boy's got some serious death wish mojo working."

"No. But, I think we may need to reprogram our Princess. She's been Troutified."


End file.
